You'll Never Lose Me
by Many Sleepless Nights
Summary: Blaine's sick. And sick people rest, right? the only problem is that he's also stubborn. Stubborn, and hell-bent on taking care of Kurt and their son, even if it means neglecting his own health. He just keeps getting sicker and sicker... Futurefic! klaine live together with thier son Liam in New York. kind of Blangst with a lot of fluff mixed in!


"_ehh… EhGTCHHH!_" Blaine sneezed, sniffling into his sleeve. He'd been sick for a few days now, a pestering cold that wouldn't leave him alone. But, since landing his first teaching job at Linbush Elementary School, he couldn't afford a day off. Not with two weeks until Winter break. He had rehearsals for his new musical _All Shook Up _after work every day anyways. Their lead couldn't be out sick. Kurt had already been sidelined with the flu, and someone had to be there to pick up their son from daycare. So, Blaine wore on.

He was leaving rehearsal now, on his way to get Liam from Mrs. Davenprot's childcare services. Blaine and Kurt had argued about it for weeks after Liam turned four. Blaine thought dropping their child off for someone else to take care of seemed cruel, downright bad parenting, and not being around for any of the important milestones. Kurt, on the other hand, insisted that with both of them working and performing on irregular schedules, it was impossible to always be with him. It was days like this, run down days when his head felt stuffed with cotton, and he could barely keep his eyes open, that Blaine was glad his husband had won the argument.

On the way in the building, he was stopped by none other than Mrs. Davenprot herself.

"Mr. Anderson?" She asked, and he had to refrain from correcting her_. Mr. Hummel-Anderson, to be exact. _

"Yes?" He smiled, trying to keep the congestion out of his voice.

"We called your home phone this afternoon, but no one picked up," She sighed. She was a larger-set woman, probably around fifty years old or so, with big square glasses that belonged to a librarian from the seventies, "Liam seems to have come down with something. We've been keeping him in the nurse's room away from the other children."

Blaine groaned internally. Not only did he feel like shit, have to take care of his flu-ridden husband, and do the house work, paper corrections, and line memorization, he had to nurse his son, too.

"Of course, I'm so sorry. My husband was probably asleep. He would have called me to come get him I just—"

"It's okay, dear," The older woman cooed, "Young parents always have these problems. When I married my husband, I had to walk across town every day to get my daughter from the woman we hired to watch her. Once, I fell asleep, and she stayed at Mrs. Hemmings house the whole night before my husband…" She kept rambling on, guiding Blaine across the room, until they reached the back.

Entering the nurse's office, he could see Liam curled up asleep on the cot. His heart panged with guilt. How long had his son been like that?

"I'll let you sign him out from here," The nurse at the desk smiled. Blaine had to carry the unconscious boy out to his car, huffing and holding back the coughs threatening to erupt from his lungs the whole way there. Halfway home, Liam woke, practically in tears.

"Dad?" The little boy cried, "Dad, I don' feel good."

"I know, baby," he pursed his lips, "It's okay, we'll be home soon, and you can go rest with daddy."

"Dad—" His son was cut off by the sound of retching. Blaine cringed, and Laim started to wail, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," but every apology led to more vomiting.

"Liam, honey, calm down, it's okay…" He tried to soothe. Checking behind his shoulder only to see his son covered in tears and puke. Blaine gagged back bile of his own, "You'll be okay, we're almost there sweetie."

When they finally pulled into the apartment complex lot, Blaine was quick to rush his messy, hysteric five year old up the first set of stairs, grateful they were on the second floor. There was no way they'd be able to handle going up to floor ten in an elevator, and Blaine wasn't nearly healthy enough to carry him that many flights, either. He practically dropped the kid on the floor in front of the toilet, ignoring Kurt's confused calls as he rushed back out to the car with his cleaning supplies.

"_eh'SHH!...hehh..snff!...n'GXCHT!" _He sneezed, almost glad his nose was too stuffed up to smell the vomit he was trying to scrub out of the floor of his car. Coughing wetly into his sleeve, Blaine finished the job and made his way back up the stairs, exhausted.

When he got back to the bathroom, he saw Kurt, kneeling by their heaving son, rubbing his back, undoubtedly singing in is ear.

"Kurt, honey, get back in bed," Blaine sighed, "I'll take care of him."

"Oh like you did so well? This isn't what a good father does!" Kurt snapped, gesturing to the crying boy.

"What? I didn't—"

"You cleaned up your _car _before your son. Do you know how messed up that is? You let him sit in his own filth!"

"Kurt—"

"Blaine, I feel like crap and you're making me get up to clean him and take care of him because you can't do it yourself."

He wanted to yell back, to tell Kurt that he felt like crap, too. To argue that yeah, he cleaned the car, but it was impossible to bathe Liam while he was still throwing up. But then he saw his Husband's bloodshot eyes, and remembered the worried feeling in his stomach that morning when he realized just how feverish Kurt was, and gave in.

"I'm sorry," Blaine mumbled, "Go back to our room. I'll clean him up."

Sniffing, Kurt followed his instructions and retreated to the bedroom grudgingly. Fighting the urge to join his son on the bathroom floor, Blaine peeled off Liam's clothes, throwing them in a disgusting heap in the corner of the room. Liam squirmed under his grasp, struggling against his dad at first and squealing in displeasure as the shower water splashed against his skin. But Blaine held him down, scrubbing off any and all traces of illness from his body. By the time Liam was clean and clothed, resting in his other father's arms, Blaine was ready to pass out. Instead, he ended up grading his first grader's spelling tests and looking over his Character, Chad's, newly inserted lines. When he was finally done, it was almost midnight. He'd only spent an hour asleep on the couch when he was awoken my Liam, staring wide eyed at him. Nightmares. He had to read two books and sing four renditions of The Beatles before his son lost consciousness again. Blaine carried him back to bed, groggily coughing and nuzzling his head back into the cushions of his couch.

The second time he woke up, his head was clouded and he couldn't breathe through his nose. Groaning, he rolled over and tried to fall asleep again, only to realize something: He was late. He jumped up, practically sprinting to get ready. His students would already be in the classroom by the time he got there. He didn't even bother jelling his hair back. Taming his curls would take half an hour, and he didn't have that kind of time. Instead, he just threw on a collared shirt and jeans and ran out. It was too casual compared to his normal slacks and loafers combo, but there was no way in hell he could sit all day in the uncomfortable stiff material.

His kids were seated at their desk when he came crashing in, unkempt and disorganized as he tried to write the morning equations on the board. When they were all quietly trying to solve the problems, he did his best to clean up a bit, brushing his hair from his face and taking a minute to call Kurt.

"You didn't even say goodbye this morning," The accusation was the first thing out of his husband's mouth.

"I know, I know. I slept late and—"

"You didn't take Liam to daycare."

"I can't. He's sick, remember?" Blaine asked, confused.

"So I have to take care of him all day?"

"I have work, I can't just drop everything. I have a class to teach."

"You also have a family to take care of, asshole," Kurt spat.

"Kurt, honey, you know I didn't mean it like that. Look, I have to go. Morning announcements are coming on in a minute. Feel better, okay?"

"Oh, I see. Leaving me for work again."

"I love you," Blaine tried to say, but he'd already been hung up on.

_He's just sick, _Blaine reminded himself, _he always gets like this when he's sick. Don't you remember the winter you were engaged? He tried to break up with you for buying the wrong kind of cold medicine. Don't let it get to you. It's just Kurt being Kurt. He'll feel bad about it in—_

"Mr. Hummelson?" Tiana, a little blonde girl in his class, asked, breaking him from his thoughts, "Can I go to the bathroom?"

"Of course Sw- _swhee hEE HTCH! _Excuse me. Sweetie. Just take a pass, okay?"

"Bless you!" She chimed, running off to grab the wooden bathroom pass reading _Girls _in big pink lettering.

He wrote the schedule in red marker on the dry erase board, letting the kids look over it for a moment, before starting morning read-aloud.

Needless to say, it was a disaster. He hardly made it though the small picture book, sneezing every other sentence, breaking out into coughing fits every few pages.

"Mr. Hummelson?" A boy named Roger raised his hand, "Do you need to see the nurse?"

"No," Blaine laughed, "I'm okay"

But the later in the day it got, the less okay he was. By lunch, he'd swallowed at least a dozen cough drops, Advil, and used up four pocket-sized tissue packets.

"Blaine," Julia Downey, one of his coworkers, and fellow newbie sighed, "Go home. You look like hell."

"Gee, thanks," he muttered, "but I really can't. There's no one to su… _suh huh HETSCH TSH! _there's no one to sub ib for be. Look, there's onby two hours left ib the day. I'll just have themb watch Bill Nye or sobting."

"Don't you think Bill Nye is a little bit over a first grader's head? I know eighth grade teachers using his videos."

Shaking his head, he retreated back to his room and plopped in his chair, waiting for the kids to arrive back from their break.

He popped in some video about the extinction of dinosaurs, and was just stating to doze off—along with two kids in the third row who already had— when his phone rang. Slightly embarrassed, he excused himself to the hall.

"Hello?" He had to clear his throat to make any noise come out.

"I'm sorry for being an ass. My fever broke a few hours ago, and ugh, some of the things I said…"

"Id's fibe Kurt," Blaine sniffed, "You were sigk."

"I think your connection is spotty, babe, I can barely hear you."

_That's because I barely have a voice left. _He cleared his throat again, a wet cough making his frame shake, before trying to talk.

"I said it's okay, Kurt, You were sick."

"That's not an excuse, god, I do it every time, too."

Blaine hated regretful Kurt almost as much as bitchy sick Kurt. Still, though, the words rang in his head.

"_You also have a family to take care of, asshole,"_

"_Oh, I see. Leaving me for work again."_

"_This isn't what a good father does!"_

"Don't get yourself worked up about it, okay? You didn't hurt my feelings or anything," He bluffed, "How's the little one doing?"

"Liam?" Kurt laughed, "well he's absolutely fine. Must have been a stomach bug or something. He's been bouncing off the walls since he got up."

"Alright, well, I have a class and—"

"Shit, I interrupted your class, didn't I?"

"They're only watching a movie," Blaine held the phone away from his face so he could cough.

"You hate showing them movies," the confusion in his voice seeped through the phone, "IT's impersonal or whatever."

"They were tired, my voice gets annoying…"

"Your voice could never be annoying. Your voice is beautiful."

"Alright, Romeo. I have to go."

"I love you…"

"I love yo… _hew… HEWCHTSCH!" _Blaine sneezed.

"Blaine?"

"I hab to go," Blaine muttered, hanging up and heading back in. When the bell rang, he thought about ditching practice and retreating to his bed, letting the exhaustion indulge him, but changed his mind immediately. Even if he had promised Julia he'd go home, he had to give his director a 24 hour notice of any absences, and he didn't want to have to explain why no one could run any scenes because of him. His character Chad was in nearly every scene. Not showing up would just be downright disrespectful.

So he sucked it up and went to rehearsal. His voice was completely gone just a half hour in, and he nearly threw up trying to perform a dance move. After nearly passing out in the walkthrough of _C'mon Everybody_, a number he knew better than the back of his hand, rehearsal was cut twenty minutes short. Blaine was greatful, but guilty. Like he'd let everyone down. Again. He was always letting people down. The cast in his musical, His son who didn't get picked up, Kurt who he couldn't stay home to take care of… Who accused him of not being a good father _or _husband. The thought made his already nauseas stomach twist.

Walking through the front door, he could see Kurt hadn't been lying when he said everyone was doing better. He was cooking in the kitchen, a smell that should have made Blaine ready to eat but instead make him want to puke, humming a little tune to himself. Liam was playing with toys in the living room, eyes glued to the intricate pattern of red, blue, green, blocks he was stacking.

"Blaine, you home?"

"mmhhmm…." He droned in confirmation, not trusting his voice.

"Are you hungry?" Kurt tried to ask, but Blaine was already in his room, trying to pull himself together. _I'm fine, _he thought to himself, _I have a tickle in my throat. Allergies. Not sick. _

He knew it wasn't true, not in the slightest, but he didn't want his family to be disappointed. He was a bad enough father when he was healthy, an even worse husband. He couldn't make Kurt take care of him. He couldn't take a sick day from his responsibilities. He had to drop off his son at daycare, he had to clean the kitchen. Hell, Kurt shouldn't have had to cook. Blaine was supposed to bring home dinner.

All of the things he had to get done started piling up on him, his breath quickening. Soon, he was coughing up a lung and gasping for air, trying not to alarm anyone in the other room. Of course Kurt had heard. He knew immediately, when he heard the door behind him creak open.

"You're sick," Kurt sighed accusingly.

"No-" Blaine's voice cracked, "I'm fine."

"You look like shit."

Blaine flinched under his words.

"I'll be fine," he rasped out.

"I knew it the second you told me you overslept," Kurt ignored him, "Alright, get in bed."

"No."

"No?"

"I'm not—" Blaine's stomach dropped, and he was sprinting to the bathroom as fast as his cramped legs would carry him. IT was not pretty, throwing up. All of it, the smell, the sound… it made Blaine feel even sicker, make him throw up more.

"Oh, _Blaine_…" Kurt groaned pityingly.

"Go away," Blaine said hoarsely, "I'll be okay."

Kurt just rubbed his back, humming a little in his ear. When Blaine was done, his cheeks flushed and he couldn't make eye contact with his husband.

"What's wrong?" Kurt asked softly.

"I didn't want you to see that."

"I've seen you sick before," he laughed, "That wasn't your worst moment."

Blaine looked away completely, turning around to walk away. He was trying to keep the fact that he was tearing up a little hidden. Crying wasn't what a protector of a family does. Not over a harmless insult and a bout of vomiting.

"Baby…" Kurt followed, looking more and more concerned with each passing second, "You have to talk to me. What's wrong? What do you need? I'll get it for you, anything."

"I don't need anything," Blaine smiled his infamous Anderson fake smile.

"That façade doesn't work on me, any you know it. I just need to know how I can take ca-"

"You don't have to take care of me. You're sicker than I am. Go to bed."

"Please," Kurt scoffed, "I'm completely healthy now. I had a stomach ache, like two days ago."

"You had the flu."

"Past tense. _Had_ the flu. And now, you have… well, I don't know what you have. I can't unless you tell me what's wrong."

"I'm fine," he insisted, but there was nothing to reassure his obvious lie, "Really. I have to go wash Liam's sheets. I forgot to last night and if he feels better then…"

"Are you kidding me? You want to do housework right now?"

"I ju… _ju… huh HXTSCH!" _

"You aren't doing chores right now, okay? Just lay down and—"

"How can I possibly be a responsible adult if I spend all night in bed?" Blaine finally snapped, chills overtaking his frame.

"What? Honey I-"

"I can hardly take care of you guys when I'm healthy," His voice started to crackle, but it wasn't because he was sick this time, "I can't be sick because then… then you and Laim wont…" He was swaying, trying to think through the haze in his brain. The coughing got worse, wracking his body. He was convulsing in coughs that turned to sobs.

Because while illness made Kurt a bitch, it made Blaine a mess of tears and angst.

"Shh… Clalm down, calm down, you're okay…"

"I don't want to be okay! You shouldn't have to soothe me, Kurt. I did a shitty job taking care of you this week. Why should you have to nurse me? I'm nothing special. I'm just another good for nothing dad, right? God, I deserve to be sick."

"Don't say that," Kurt's heart was dropping, shocked by the self-hatred erupting from the panic-stricken, feverish Blaine, "My god, you're burning up," He mumbled, more to himself than his husband, "Blaine, honey, you're scaring me. Just lay down."

"Why, so you can accuse me of sleeping when I should be helping our son go to bed?"

Instead of responding, Kurt gently used his hands to push back on Blaine's shoulders, letting him fall weakly onto the bed. He was too sick to make an effort of getting up, too emotional to calm down enough to consciously decide not to sleep.

Kurt knew it was his fault, after the things he probably shouldn't have said. But he didn't know how to fix it. Blaine had been too busy taking care of everyone else, that he forgot to take care of himself. And there he was, a crumpled hysterical mess. Because he was too stubborn to admit he wasn't feeling well. Sighing, Kurt left the room, desperate to get Liam in bed before all hell broke loose. For once, thank god, he didn't put up much of a fight. Kurt scooped up some of the shrimp and rice he'd made into a bowl to bring to his ailed husband, who'd finally calmed down enough to have a normall conversation.

The conversation never came, though, because the second the scent of food entered the premise, Blaine had his head in a bucket.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry!" Kurt ran back out, setting the bowl back on the kitchen counter.

"It's okay," Blaine reassured, "It's fine. Come back."

"I didn't mean to…" Kurt opened the door hesitantly.

"I know," he smiled, "You're good. I'm really sorry about, uh, freaking out on you." He sounded awful, like it hurt to talk. And really, it did. Like swallowing a jar of nails.

"Not your fault," Kurt hovered over him, pressing a hand on his cheek, "You can't let me get to you. I'm a dumbass."

"At least you don't cry over every stupid little thing I say."

"You never say anything stupid," he grinned, "Actually, you have to learn to speak the hell up. What were you even thinking? You can't just let everything slide until it gets this bad."

"I didn't_... ehh HTSCHU!"_

"Exacty. Would you look at me? We care about you. Me and Liam, more than you could ever imagine. And the thought of you just getting sicker and sicker… How long have you been sick?"

"A week," Blaine mumbled sheepishly, "But it wasn't that bad until yesterday."

"You could have told me."

"And worried you like that? Kurt, I know how you get around sick people. It scares you."

"I just don't think I can lose anyone else," Kurt murmured, sitting on the edge of the bed and brushing back the curls from Blaine's sweaty face, leaning down to kiss his forehead, "Especially not you."

"You won't lose me," Blaine whispered, "You'l never lose me."


End file.
